Disconnect and Self Destruct
by SearchingTheSkies
Summary: A woman from the 21st century is reincarnated in 1910. Then she dies once again, but doesn't wake up as a baby this time. Instead, she's in Soul Society; a place she only read about in her first life so many years ago. Fuck. Warning!: North American SS! Might turn into SYOC later on!


**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or any of its characters.**

When asked about her life, Sandra Farest would likely answer with a shrug, a small smile, and vague response. She might mention something about her childhood house, of her parents laughing around a dinner table.

If prodded, she might mention how growing up during a time of war was difficult, especially since her father was drafted and her mother was forced to a job. Being not even in the double digits, there wasn't much she could do for money to help. It could have also been because of her gender. In 1918, society as a whole still hadn't accepted women.

She also might bring up how, despite the rampant discrimination against women, she still had it better than the African Americans she knew, pushed to the side and at the least ignored, at most murdered. She'll bring up her views on equality for all, and most people would stop listening to her by then.

After all, she was only a woman.

If not, then she would gladly chat about her job as a university instructor -though she wouldn't bring up how challenging in had been to be accepted-, and how lovely her students were. At age 21, she was the youngest female instructor there, and if one asked her colleagues or students, they would only offer some piece about her being unique and rather progressive for the day and age.

What Sandra Farest would not bring up, however, is how she prefered the name Hannah Overman. Or how she hated this time period and all the sexist pigs and how she was expected to wear a dress every day of her life. She won't mention how she knew what dying felt like.

 _Cold. It was cold and painful and how could anyone think it was peaceful?_

She wouldn't bring up how she had seen buildings reaching to the sky; how she used to be able to hold her phone in her back pocket of her pants and talk to someone miles away instantly.

She would never bring up how the idea of Christianity disgusted her, and how foolish she believed those with deep faith to be.

But now, it's not even possible for one to ask her that. Not anymore. Not as the building she was in was burned, fire in her eyes and on her skin.

Death for Sandra Farest was smoldering this time around, hot and painful and she almost wished for the feeling of water crushing her instead. But the burning in her lungs was the same, so she ignored that thought. She only hoped that she wouldn't hear the screaming of a baby this time around, that she wouldn't have to go by another name in another family and time period where she was seen as the trash beneath man's foot.

As her skin melted off and her screams sounded throughout the town, all she wished for was nothingness this time around.

.

.

.

Sandra, or Hannah as she prefered, did not wake up screaming as a baby, but she did wake up. And that was bad enough, in her eyes. Her clothes were different than the plain but overly strict dress she had been wearing before. Instead, she wore a simple dirty tunic that reached about halfway down her thighs and rough leather pants that ended right above her ankles.

Her once long soot-colored hair was now burnt and shorter, reaching only to her chin in some parts while other places had been burnt down to the scalp. But as she looked over her tanned skin, she saw no burns. Her body was completely free of any reminders of her death by fire. She didn't really know how to feel about that.

But she brushed the strangeness to the side, using her years of practice of ignoring the impossible, and studied her surroundings. While she was beyond relieved she wasn't a baby once again, she knew that she once again had died (once again, before she even reaches 23, damnit) and should not be waking up. Around her was a town, a few people here and there wearing the same type of clothes she was walking around. None bothered to even give the woman a glance, like it was normal for someone to just appear face down in the middle of the street.

(It was, but Hannah didn't know that at the time.

She was usually calm and collected, nothing really scaring or confusing her because hey, once you get reincarnated into the 1900s, there's not much out there that can knock you off your seat. This did. Knock her off, that is. She wondered if she even died, if the fire really happened. Maybe she's finally lost it. This is all some kind of hallucination and she's in some asylum with even crazier doctors messing with her. She knows how they are in this day and age.

She's crazy, not blind.)

It's dirty, with dust on the people and the buildings are kind of worn down-looking, but it's not too filthy. For some reason she imagines that it could be a lot worse, and a lot more dangerous than what she's seeing.

She didn't know where that thought came from.

She got to her feet, watching the people around her with weary green eyes, and started walking forward, careful not to fall. Her legs shook, and despite just waking up, the black-haired woman felt exhausted. It was like something heavy was all around her, weighing her down and filling up her body.

 _It reminded her of water and she choked down the automatic fear that came with that thought._

As she continued walking, however, the feeling starts to slowly subside. She could still feel something almost tangible in the air, but it was no longer suffocating and weighing her down. It felt almost like she was walking through fog.

Memories from her first life flitted through her mind, a flash of orange and...a strawberry? She pushed them away, more concerned with getting answers as quickly as she could.

"Excuse me, sir" she said, stopping in front of a middle-aged man in front of a fruit stall. He looks up, grey eyes understanding. He did just watch her appear from nowhere, after all. "I'm just wondering what's going on? I mean, I'm dead right, that fire- well. There's no way I'm still alive, right? Where is this place? Why am I here?"

The man let out a crooked if a little sad grin. Obviously it wasn't the first time he had been questioned like this. It didn't make it any easier, however.

"You, miss, are in District 27, Dixard. And yes, you are dead. I'm guessing you came peacefully then, since you didn't mention no Reaper. This is is Soul Society, where all souls go when they die."

 _Oh shit,_ she thought. _I'm in a fucking manga._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 **Welp, finally got this idea out. I've wanted to read some N. American SS stories, but they seem to be in rather short supply...so I decided to write one myself. I've only ever read one other, Soar! by DoilyRox, and sadly she never finished.**

 **(If anyone knows any good stories with American SS, that'll be great)**

 **But yes, Hannah Overman died of drowning in the 21st century, got reborn around 1910, and died in a fire around 1931. And finally gets to SS. I know, kind of awkward, but I wanted her to actually be a reincarnation. Yes, she read Bleach when she was Hannah, but remember, it's been 21 years since then. She ain't gonna remember much.**

 **I'm planning to make this a syoc in the future, when I need Captains and Lieutenants, but for now it's just a regular story.**

 **And don't worry, I will introduce the main characters in later chapters! Anyways, I believe that's all.**

 **Oh! Except for one thing. This isn't my Main Story. I have a Dragon Age story going on right now that I've had for quite a while, so that one always gets priority. Besides, I would feel horrible if I ditched it! I love reviews, but don't require them! Thanks for reading.**


End file.
